


Live Long Enough to See Yourself Become a Hero

by Kementari (IrmoKementari)



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Loki (Marvel), Escape, Eventual Friendship, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), I'm bad with tags, Injury, Plot, Protective Bucky Barnes, Short, Violence, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-02-24 10:26:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13211817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrmoKementari/pseuds/Kementari
Summary: Loki falls, but instead of being found by Thanos, he lands in Siberia, Russia. What happens when the god of mischief and the Winter Soldier decide they are tired of being controlled, and is it enough to save the world?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this work comes from the Batman: The Dark Knight quote, "You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become a villain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this work comes from the Batman: The Dark Knight quote, "You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become a villain."

Loki blinked lazily up at the light glimmering through the trees. For a moment he struggled to remember where he was. That probably wasn’t a good sign. He squinted up at the darkening leaves above his head, trying to ascertain his position. The foliage waved placidly back, giving him no context to work with whatsoever. Stupid trees. Carefully, he assessed his situation. He felt largely numb, he was cold, and likely concussed if his current processing speed was any indication. Something warm ran across his chest, tickling his collar bone. If he were to hazard a guess he would say it was blood, but he was having a hard enough time just keeping his eyes open, it seemed a waste of energy to check. The more pressing concern would probably be that he seemed unable to breath in more than short, painful gasps. 

With an effort, he fought to pull in one breath after another. Something shifted painfully in his chest, but it felt distant and foreign. He was probably in shock. He blinked once more, the frost on his lashes sticking his eyes closed for a moment before he forced them open again, trying to ban the encroaching fuzziness from his vision.  


He remembered now. The bridge, the fall, the emptiness, and the deeper, crueler cold which made this unknown realm seem almost sweet. He remembered his anger, now all but spent. He remembered two faces staring down at him, one in desperation, one in disappointment. “No Loki.”  


Finally, he allowed his eyes to drift closed. If the void itself refused to end him, this frozen forest would be no more generous.  


An indecipherable amount of time passed before voices woke him. Deep, guttural, but unmistakably Midgardian. The irony. The First Prince of Asgard at the mercy of the mortal race that once worshipped his kind. It took a moment for his muddled mind to recognize the conglomeration of sounds as language, Midgardian Russian if he was not mistaken. Thank the Norns for the All Speak.  


“He lives.”  


“Impossible! He’s got a branch sticking through him!”  


Loki took a moment to wonder at the imbecility of the speaker before the words sank in. That would explain his difficulty breathing. And the blood, he realized belatedly. He should probably do something about that, honestly. With an embarrassing effort, he managed to will his eyes open just far enough to see two burly men grab a thick, red colored branch, which he distantly recognized to be protruding from his body. He stared at it curiously for a moment, as though questioning its reality, when suddenly the branch proved its existence as it first shifted then tore through his battered chest, catching and splintering as it was ripped from his body.  


With a scream, Loki lashed out with his atrophied magic, flinging it out blindly in an almost feral attempt to defend himself. With a bubbling gasp, he pulled his weakened power back to himself, wrapping it around his emaciated frame like a protective cocoon. Standing shakily, he surveyed what remained of his surroundings. All of the trees within a thirty meters radius of him were flattened and partially burnt. Several bodies littered the ground, some were beginning to stir, others lay ominously still.  


He stumbled back a step, trying to control his sudden vertigo. He didn’t have much time, and already one of the mortals was methodically arming what appeared to be some sort of detonation device. With a frantic wave of energy Loki hurled the remaining mortals back several meters, already knowing it was too late. For a moment all he knew was that he had to get out of here immediately. The release of death had spurned him once, he would not allow it to claim him now. He was Loki, and he alone would decide his fate. Ruthlessly fighting against the darkness encroaching on his vision, he pulled his suddenly unwieldy magic to himself one last time to for a hastily woven shield.  


In retrospect, he should have known he wasn’t strong enough for that. The grenade exploded moments before his shields locked into place, throwing him backward. The last thing he registered before the blinding white faded to black oblivion, was a man with a black mask and a silver arm standing over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story idea popped into my brain and I liked it, but not sold on continuing it right now because life be crazy. I just gave this to you as a parting gift from 2017 so you, my fellow Marvel enthusiasts, could hopefully let me know if you would be interested in a better written continuation of this premise. Let me know what you think and enjoy your New Year.  
> -Kementari


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a little gift to all of you. Read, and enjoy.  
> -Kementari

The Soldier trudged through knee high snow, turning slightly to avoid slapping the prisoner’s dangling head against the charred remains of an ancient evergreen. The man’s frozen clothing creaked slightly with the motion, his frosted hair scraping against the Soldier’s metal arm as the Soldier hoisted his burden into a more secure fireman’s carry. The Soldier’s original mission had been had been protection rather than extraction; this was a prime example of how missions could change. He had been activated to control any threat of enemy combatants while the lightly armed team of scientists and researchers investigated a disturbance that the Doctor had tentatively termed either an experimental satellite attack or an untraced meteor shower. 

He had failed his mission.

The prisoner had somehow managed to almost completely destroy the research team with what looked like little more than a thought, leaving only a handful of survivors, none of whom were in suitable shape or important enough rank for him to bother extracting them. Now he had no choice but to move on to his secondary objective: Retrieve the disturbance and return it to base. 

That would have been a lot easier if the disturbance had not been a six foot tall man intent on bleeding out. The Soldier shouldered his way through a small copse of juniper, a dusting of snow sprinkling onto his shoulders as a he brushed aside the feather like foliage. The forty kilometer trek back to base would have been much simpler if his motorcycle and radio had not been caught in the blast radius when the prisoner lashed out. Turning slightly to accommodate his temporarily high center of gravity, the Soldier inched his way down a particularly precipitous ledge, combat boots gripping at the icy slope. Half way down, he began to slide as his snow crusted boots lost traction. Bending his knees and leaning forward to balance his load, the Soldier whipped out his metal arm, scraping it against the weather slicked ground to control his descent. After perhaps fifteen meters of controlled free fall, the Soldier pushed off from the icy craig to land heavily on the level ground below, knees flexing to absorb his shift in weight.  

The prisoner grumbled in protest to the Soldier’s abrupt motion, and began to struggle weakly against the Soldier’s hold. With his balance already compromised by the treacherous terrain, the Soldier stumbled a step, catching the prisoner’s bloodless hand in his metal one to keep him from slipping off his shoulder. The prisoner resisted his hold for a moment, his wet gasps sounding a panicked staccato against his ear, until with a choked cough, the prisoner stilled completely. 

Pausing a moment, the Soldier frowned, that probably was not good. Quickly and efficiently, the Soldier swung his burden onto the snow, taking care to jostle him as little as possible. 

As soon as the Soldier released him, the prisoner’s head lolled to the side, krinkleing his frosted hair, dried blood flaking delicately off his chin. His clothing appeared to have once been dark leather, but was now cracked from exposure and stiffened by frozen blood and ice. 

The Soldier straightened, absently dusting a powdering of snow off his shoulders, before carefully setting aside his sniper rifle and some of his bulkier weapons so that he could kneel more comfortably in the snow. The Soldier quickly checked the pressure bandage he had secured over the man’s chest. It was saturated, but still secure, and as he only carried one in his compact med kit, it would have to do. The flutter valve he had secured over the man’s compromised lung was still operational, but he knew that just keeping air out of his chest cavity would do nothing to prevent the lung from flooding. The Soldier carefully held a calloused finger to the prisoners face: no breath. He should have noticed that immediately; the prisoner was no longer fighting and choking for his every breath. The organ had finally given out completely. 

The Soldier frowned again. This mission hinged on the subject not being dead for once. Little information as his memory provided, he could not remember failing a mission. Somehow he felt that he did not want to change that. With sudden urgency, he pressed a sure finger to the prisoner’s carotid artery. It took a moment for his finger to register any sign of life, then he felt he felt the movement filled him first with relief, then confusion. Beneath the frozen layer of grimey skin, he could still feel a stubborn pulse. It did not flutter or stutter as hearts typically did in the rare circumstances it was necessary for him to double check, but it beat a slow, steady rhythm, as though in a coma or hibernation. How?  The unusually low body temperature was a phenomenon familiar to the aptly named ‘Winter Soldier’, but his lungs were completely flooded. The Soldier considered himself an expert in discerning exactly how much abuse a human body could withstand, and there was no question in his mind; if the prisoner was human he would be dead. 

With that thought, the Soldier rocked back on his heels, removing his mask with his living hand, and blinked at the still form of this new enigma. Well, Damn. 

For a moment he wondered if this was another super soldier attempt, but no. He remembered the sudden bursts of energy that had killed his team. Logically, he should have realized the man was somehow enhanced then, but at the same time, he wasn’t meant to be making these kinds of connections at all. Slowly absorbing his sudden realization, the Soldier realized that he had only managed the connection because it had been almost seven months since his last wipe, and that record would be broken immediately if the Doctor realized he had begun making non mission relevant deductions. Thinking of the Doctor made his brown eyes suddenly flash toward the lax featured prisoner. He knew first hand what the Doctor did to unusual discoveries, and a part of him recoiled at the thought of delivering the prisoner to that fate. 

Standing abruptly, the Soldier shook off the mutinous thoughts. He had failed his initial mission, and his deepest, most visceral instincts shrunk from the idea of compromising his secondary objective as well. His only option was to fulfil his mission. If he was lucky and the prisoner proved useful, perhaps the Commander would consider this mission a success. Straightening with resolve, the Soldier fit his mask back over is face, his arm whirring with the motion, if he intended to return to base before the package expired, it would not do to linger. With practiced ease, he restrapped his rifle to his back and refitted the weapons he had shed back into their proper positions. 

Stooping to hoist the prisoner back onto his shoulders, the Soldier hesitated. Something about the narrow features and emaciated frame stirred a deeply buried memory, some obscure need to protect rather than destroy. The Soldier’s brow furrowed in confusion. Some previous mission perhaps? Simply because assassinations were his specialty did not mean they were the only missions he executed; this disaster of a mission was proof enough of that. He dismissed the thought. It was not relevant now. All that mattered was the mission, and the mission currently was beginning to resemble the surrounding snow in both temperature and color. 

With a sigh, the Soldier re-shed his recently donned weapons, and withdrew a square of crinkling material from a pocket of his cargos. He gently unfolded the thermal blanket onto the ground, and using the strength of his mechanized arm, shifted the prisoner’s dead weight onto the insulating material before deftly wrapping him into the makeshift sleeping roll. Satisfied that the the prisoner would be able to retain any negligible body heat he produced, the Soldier unclipped his med kit from between the flash bang and the hand grenade on his utility belt. 

The mission depended on the prisoner not dying, so enabling him to heal should be one of his primary objectives. The prisoner was clearly unnaturally resilient, and perhaps, should the worst of his injuries be treated, he would be able to walk, speeding the return to base. This meant that ensuring the prisoner was able to handle being carried at a brisk pace, or even better, carry some of his own weight, aided in a primary mission prerogative

The Soldier prodded gently at the prisoner’s battered chest, determining the best method of clearing his lungs. By setting up camp to stabilize the prisoner he was simply following protocol to salvage a sideways mission. If in doing so he protected the prisoner from the Doctor’s curiosity, it would be an unanticipated consequence of circumstances outside his control. His mission was to deliver the prisoner to the Doctor, but there was no need to tell the Doctor who, or what, he was delivering.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, there is more on the way. Until then, have beautiful lives.  
> -Kementari


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and the Winter Soldier make their acquaintances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who are reading, and particularly to those who are reviewing. You are magnificent. Now off you go, read and enjoy.
> 
> -Kementari

The first thing Loki noticed when he woke was that his cheek was wet. A heavy flake landed on his right temple, before slowly melting and trickling downward into his eye. He flickered his eye lids in annoyance, disrupting the crystallized ice that clung to the ends of his lashes. Blinking slowly to clear his fogging vision, he finally focused his eyes focused on a broken stem of brown grass protruding from the snow inches from his nose. It’s head was bowed with chunks of ice, its leafy blades torn by wind, or nibbled by whatever animal was foolish enough to inhabit this waste. 

Suddenly, the resilient stalk was crushed by a weathered, black combat boot. 

The fuzziness in his mind shattered from existence like cloudy glass struck by lightning., Loki rolled away from the unidentified stranger onto his knees, ignoring the newly remembered pain tugging in his chest as he summoned his knives. Righting himself on one knee, Loki faced his newest threat, tossing his wild hair from his eyes in the same motion as he twitched aside the thin blanket that yet clung to him like a poorly made cape or an over dependant cat. Breathing deeply to quiet the burning fire that had rekindled in his chest,  Loki leveled his eyes on the strange man who stood opposite him. 

He was of average height for a Midgardian, but strongly built, and dressed almost completely in black leather. His left arm was made of some type of metal, the artificial muscles nearly soundless as the supple plates slid against each other in preparation for imminent violence. The lower portion of his face was shielded by a black mask, and dark, unkempt hair fell over his darkened eyes that glared at Loki with an unreadable gaze. 

Drawing himself to his feet with deliberate control, Loki lowered his knives to his side and relaxed his shoulders, tilting his head consideringly, like a wolf categorizing a new threat. His mind was not so far gone that he did not realize he had been cared for. Whatever treacherous twist of fate had sustained him for months through the void, would hardly suffer him to succumb to his wounds on this feeble planet. Even so, he understood the wound he had sustained. Even if Hela had rejected him yet again, he should not be capable of thought, much less motion, until his body mended. This man must have aided in his healing. Unless more time had passed than he thought. 

Suddenly wary, Loki stilled. Keeping his tone steady, and his movements calm, Loki lowering his head slightly toward the man standing opposite him. “How long have I lingered here?”

The man shifted minutely, facing Loki from across the patch of snow disrupted by Loki’s earlier retreat. He seemed to consider Loki for a moment, as though he were some curiosity, before answering in low, accented voice that sounded as though it was used very little. “Three days.”

His mind racing to decipher this situation, Loki stalled, “My thanks for your hospitality. Might I know your name?” Keeping his attention on the metal armed man, Loki flicked his eyes to the rudimentary campsite around them, taking in the smoldering embers of what had once been a small fire. The ring of cleared snow and smoking brush was centered directly between the two visible bedrolls to provide heat evenly to both occupants of the camp, without the drawing attention. The mortal’s neatly pile of equipment rested next to a large rock adjacent to the man’s bedroll, and the whole scene was protected by a stand of weather-worn evergreens. 

Finally, realizing he had yet to receive an answer, Loki drew his eyes back to the stranger standing opposite him, and raised his eyebrow politely, “Your name?”

The man stared at him a moment longer, brow furrowed, eyes remaining steady even when obscured by a stray strand of hair. Finally, he replied, his gruff voice a quiet rumble in the frigid air. “You will come with me.”

“Ah,” Loki flashed him a cutting smile, “a curious moniker.” With deliberate nonchalonce, Loki stepped cautiously to his right, toward the rock, putting the simmering fire between himself and the black-clad stranger. Even as he moved, the Midgardian mirrored his movement, never taking his sharp brown eyes away from Loki, though his hands had yet to move toward any of the knives visible on his person.

“And where would you take me, my mysterious friend?” 

The man did not react, except to step carefully around Loki’s discarded bedroll as he kept pace with Loki’s slow, counter-clockwise prowl around the cooling embers. 

Loki paused  at the rock, suppressing a wince. So soon after waking from a healing trance, his seidr was still working behind the scenes mending what had been broken, sapping his energy. His already lean muscles were atrophied from the eternity of endless, merciless, falling, making him lightheaded and easily fatigued. The thought sent an involuntary shiver down his spine, and he fought to keep his hands from shaking. 

Setting his feet more firmly in the drifting snow, Loki fixed the stranger with a piercing gaze. “Answer me your destination, and perhaps I will accompany you for lack of alternative, but know that I will be coerced into nothing, nor be blindly led without knowledge of my path.”

The warrior’s eyes cleared for a moment, and something akin to confusion flashed across his brow, before his mien hardened once more, “It’s classified.”

Loki simply raised a narrow eyebrow, subtly shifting his balance, lowering his shoulders, and adjusting his grip on his knives. “How unfortunate.”

The warrior seemed to lose patience at the same time, and stalked toward Loki, metal arm catching the evening light that glimmered through the trees. Faster than even Loki’s eyes could clearly follow, the man drew and threw a knife at Loki’s shoulder, immediately following it with a second. 

Reacting purely on muscle memory, Loki turned, evading the first blade by centimeters. With a vicious flick of his own knife, Loki deflected the second blade away from his face, the distraction only scarcely allowing him to dodge a metal arm that was suddenly closer than it should have been. Stumbling backward to regain some space, Loki turned quickly, avoiding the man’s flying boot, and fighting to regain his footing.

The warrior feigned to the right, then struck with his metal arm, catching a glancing blow on Loki’s temple when he was too slow to dodge. Loki reeled away, dropping his knives, before steadying himself and backing away from his adversary to create some distance and watch for weaknesses. The man stalked after Loki, a predatory set to his shoulders, yet no weapons in his hands. This warrior did not want to kill him. Interesting. And exploitable. 

Spotting an opportunity, Loki leapt forward, turning his body in the air to kick the mortal squarely in the chest with both feet and all of his momentum and weight. He kicked off from the man’s chest, landing on his shoulders in the churned snow, and using his momentum to spring immediately back to his feet, his favored knife materializing in his hand before he even finished the movement. Allowing a wolfish grin to split his face, Loki slashed at the mortal’s left side while the man was still recovering from the surprising blow. 

With inhuman speed, the man blocked Loki’s knife with his metal arm, steel screeching against steel for a long moment, when, faster than Loki could register, the man had a knife in his right hand, and stabbed it toward Loki’s abdomen. Only years of training and experience allowed Loki to swing his left forearm into the dagger’s path, deflecting it off his reinforced cuff to carve only a shallow slice into his side. With a low hiss, Loki summoned his second knife, stabbing it into the man’s unprotected right side, even as he fought to disengage his right hand from the man’s metal arm.

Ignoring the narrow stab wound, the man caught Loki’s wrist securely in his metallic fingers, and twisted sharply, forcing Loki to drop his favored knife from his suddenly numb hand. With practiced efficiency, the man shot his right arm down to catch Loki’s falling blade, tossing the black knife he was already holding in that hand upward in the process. Discarding Loki’s fractured wrist, the man caught his own, black, partially serrated blade in his silver hand, and slashed at Loki’s throat. 

With desperate speed, Loki dropped his remaining knife, and caught the metal arm in both of his trembling hands, falling sideways to avoid the blade boring down on him. He stumbled against the pile of equipment stacked against the rock, and crashed to his knees, immediately rolling to the side and back to his feet to avoid the man’s relentless blade and gleaming arm. 

If he had been in proper form, he had no doubt that he would win this fight; he had yet to meet a warrior in the Nine who could match him for blades. Even so, this mortal had skill, and Loki was now at a disadvantage. It was time to cheat. 

The black-masked man rounded on the disarmed Loki, dull brown eyes meeting fevered green for scarcely a moment, before the Soldier slammed his metal fist against Loki’s temple... only for his arm to go straight through Loki’s incorporeal head and the illusion to dissolve. 

Taking advantage of the assassin’s moment of confusion, Loki stepped up from behind him, and pressed his palms firmly to either side of the mortal warrior’s head, urging him to stillness as he searched through his head for any information that could tell him where he was, or what he had gotten himself into. 

Nothing.  

Loki frowned in  confusion. 

Ice and snow, men in dark uniforms, guns and missions. A half forgotten memory, fogging at the edges, of blond hair, and eyes as blue as lightning  filled with righteous determination. The memory of falling, darkness, and cold. Pain, emptiness, and a numbness so deep the concept of feeling is all but forgotten. 

Loki jerked away, staring at the man in confusion. 

That… was not what he had expected.

Immediately, the Soldier slammed him to the ground, a knife pressed against his jugular, hands steady and eyes wild, “who the hell are you?”

Loki slowly raised his open hands to chest level and smirked, fighting to regain his equilibrium. “It would seem, I am your prisoner.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, moment of truth, I actually wrote this a while ago, and am just throwing it in here because I thought you might like it. I am currently reading through all of the chapters looking for errors, to make sure that it all flows, and I noticed that I am calling Bucky's eyes brown, because they kind of seem brown, but it turns out their actually blue. Go figure. So I'm combing through looking for all mentions of his eyes so I can change it. I caught a lot of them, but if you find a mention of his brown eyes, please let me know? I'll probably find it once I get the time, but it would help.   
> That aside, hope you enjoyed, and have lovely lives.  
> -Kementari


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thank you to Molly and Legion11 and to all who reviewed, I asked for a response and you delivered. Life continues to happen, but if I keep posting in little nuggets like it takes surprisingly little time. So, enjoy. Things should start happening next chapter.

The Soldier stepped into the reinforced holding cell, turning slightly to avoid slapping the prisoner against the door frame. With a small shrug of his shoulders he shifted the negligible weight of the prisoner off his shoulders and onto the low cot tucked against the steel wall. The man’s frozen clothing creaked slightly as he was flopped onto the industrial mattress. As soon as the Soldier released him, the prisoner’s head lolled to the side, but he did not stir. His clothing appeared to be leather, or at least it had been at some point. Now it was covered in grit and stiffened by frozen blood and ice.

The Soldier straightened, dusted a powering of snow off his shoulders, but hesitated for a moment. The prisoner looked dead. He had lost consciousness once more almost three kilometers from the base, leaving the Soldier to carry his deceptively heavy body the remnant of the way. If he didn't know any better, the Soldier would have thought it was deliberate; in their brief interactions the wiry man had seemed particularly vindictive. But the Soldier had to admit, he was surprised the man had made it as far as he did. His bony chest was still ripped open by the ragged branch which the two, now dead, agents had so ineptly removed. Even if the Soldier had not witnessed this man level a fair patch of forest and a squadron of agents, the fact that the man still lived was a testament that he was unusual.

With a jolt of irritation, the Soldier realized that he was curious. Smoothing his features, he turned smartly and stepped out of the cell, gesturing to a nervous looking agent to lock the chamber as he strode away. Moments later, he heard the bolts fall into place with a resounding clang. The sound seemed to echo down the hall for a moment.

Another mission completed.

With a purposeful stride he returned to his own temporary cell, sat on his cot, and stared straight ahead as the door slammed shut. The locks on his cell engaged, the sound reverberating off metallic walls. For a moment he sat alone, listening to the low buzz of the fluorescent lights. The light glinted off the walls at odd angles, playing over the dull surface and catching on any imperfections. The whole cell smelled like oiled leather and gunpowder. The air was warmer in here, and drops of dirty water began to run down his neck from where snow had frozen in his hair.

A loud crackle abruptly filled the space as the intercom in the corner flickered to life. “Soldier. Report.”

The Soldier raised tired blue eyes and stared at the camera tucked directly above the intercom. “Mission Report, August 14, 2012. Coordinates: N 62° E 131°. Discovered hostile below site of atmospheric disturbance. He killed the strike team, leaving evidence of disturbance. I neutralized him and returned to base.”

The intercom was silent for a moment. He could only assume they were pulling satellite footage of the area. The Soldier was legendary for controlling any evidence of conflict. After about five minutes the intercom crackled back to life. “Prisoner 124 was the only evidence at the site?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Was there any salvageable information from the wreckage of his ship? Did he have weapons? How did he dispatch an entire strike team?”

If the Soldier didn’t know better, he would think the Commander sounded rattled. “No wreckage. No ship. No weapons.” The soldier turned his eyes back to the door, oddly exhausted. That was the best answer he was equipped to give. The prisoner seemed to have destroyed a unit with nothing but his mind. He had yet to find a way to put that into a report.

“Soldier. How did he defeat our men?”

The Soldier turned back to the camera, his arm whirring quietly to accommodate his shift in position. “Unknown. He is unusually powerful.”

Once more there was silence on the line. The static cut out with a low click, and the Soldier was once more alone. He didn’t even notice the camera anymore. With an almost mechanical motion he took his cowl off his face and held it in his frosted, metal hand. His fingers whined softly as he flexed them around the black mask.

He hated the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, lovely people. If anyone has any truly inspired ideas of what will, or should, happen next let me know, I treasure your thoughts. Chocolate cake to anyone who finds the actual location of those coordinates.  
> -Kementari


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, and a huge thank you to those of you who continue to read. This chapter is marginally longer, as a gesture of my appreciation, but I am still keeping them deliberately short in an effort to train myself to be concise.  
> This story would not be happening without the support of you wonderful people, so thank you again to everyone who is leaving comments, and a special shoutout to copper_wire, ImperialDragon and everybody else who left comments, you guys are the best and I send virtual rhubarb pie to all of you.

The first thing Loki noticed when he woke was that the ceiling was dirty. It seemed to be constructed of old, but solid, concrete complete with rust stains from where the poorly concealed rebar supports poked through. A steady dripping noise seemed to emanate through the room, and it took him a moment to realize that it came from some type of rudimentary tube feeding an unknown liquid into his arm. With a flash of panic he reached to rip the line from his flesh, but the moment he shifted his shoulder to accommodate the action his chest exploded in pain. Gasping quietly he fell back, clutching at his left collar bone, noticing for the first time the heavy bandaging.

The sharp spike slowly mellowed to a dull, throbbing ache, and he breathed deeply through his nose trying to clear his reeling mind. At the very least, the pain seemed to have cleared the haze that had settled over him, making it easier to think. He seemed to be a captive, but if his captors were taking measures to restore his strength, he must be of value alive. He could work with that. It didn’t hurt that the foolish mortals, whoever they were, almost certainly had no means to fully restrain him.

Allowing his senses to drift inward, Loki carefully assessed his state. He was injured, even gravely so, but he was faring better than expected given the situation. The ragged hole in his chest was still weeping slightly, but his depleted magic was doing its best to speed the healing process, and already he felt gnarled scar tissue valiantly stemming the bleeding from his mangled shoulder. He took a moment to study the foreign liquid being fed into his veins, but determined it was doing him no harm and could be left for now. It was a convenient enough excuse not to move.

The loud clang of a slamming door snapped him out of his thoughts. A tall man wearing a dark uniform and tightly trimmed hair strode purposefully into the room, took a quick glance around the small room, and briskly stepped back, hand lingering near a yet undrawn weapon. He nodded sharply at the door, and a lean, polished looking gentleman stepped into the room, closing the door firmly behind him. The new man was of slightly below average height, but carried himself with an air of authority. His dark hair was slicked back, his eyes were a pale, difficult to place color, and he sported a well trimmed goatee.

Loki watched the man impassively as he pulled a metal chair out of the corner and set it next to the bed. He wanted to know what he was up against here, but it wouldn’t do to appear over curious until he had a firmer grasp on this situation.

“My name is Doctor Smirnov, I am here to see how you are settling in.” The shorter man began in a warm, friendly tone. He paused for a moment after this introduction, but when Loki declined to respond, he shrugged good naturedly and turned toward one of the monitors. “We apologize for the state of your quarters,” he continued smoothly, his tone distracted as he examined some of the equipment around Loki’s bed, “we really wanted to put you in a more comfortable room, but my boss needs to know some of your basic background before we can complete the paperwork for that. Bureaucracy's a bitch .”

Definitely Russian, Loki though absently, and almost certainly lying. The man had a good poker face, but the black clad guard did not. They must truly fear him to bring untested muscle into what should have been a controlled interview. They somehow seemed to have simultaneously overestimated his physical strength and underestimated his intelligence. Rookie mistake. Keeping his features composed he simply raised one eyebrow and asked, “What do you need to know?”

The man turned from one of the oversized monitors and allowed a friendly smile to quirk his lips, “Just how you got out here, where you're from. Standard stuff. What do you remember?”

Loki contemplated the question for a moment. This man was providing enough information to explain his situation, and hopefully put him at ease. The fact that they were bothering to present this façade at all meant that they wanted him for something. They obviously considered him powerful, though they had no way of knowing to what extent. Considering that this was obviously a military operation of some sort, it didn’t take much for Loki to surmise their purpose for him.

In fact, this situation could easily be turned to his advantage, especially if this fool continued to so woefully underestimate him. Mustering a refined, yet confused tone, he allowed his posture to shrivel slightly, and widened his eyes in his best, ‘I’m misunderstood and ultimately harmless’ expression. “I remember… a forest? It’s all rather a blur I’m afraid. All I remember is that it was markedly cold.”

“Yes, it would be,” the man agreed with a chuckle that probably would have fooled most people, “This is Siberia after all. But you're going to have to give us a little more than that. How about would a name?” He offered one more gentle smile designed to keep Loki at ease despite the threatening behemoth looming in the doorway, and the interrogator trying so hard to pass a friendly doctor. It takes a rare talent to perfect such a smile. A talent that Smirnov obviously lacked.

Despite his better reason, Loki returned the smile exactly. "Lucan, Lucan Grey."

The man quirked an eyebrow, “Thank you, _Lucan_.” He stressed the name like he did not believe it for a moment. Loki didn’t blame him. “Next up, who do you work for?"

Loki stared at him innocently, "Who do _you_ think I work for?"

Smirnov huffed an ironic laugh. "I don't know. SHIELD? MI 6? Some random black ops organization? Any of these ringing bells?”

Nothing the man just said made any sense to him, but if he played it right, this interrogation could prove most informative. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you are talking about.” Loki replied blandly.

The man scoffed. “Really. You have no idea how you managed to land way out in the middle of ‘Mother Russia’ from what I can only assume was either upper atmosphere, or low orbit? You think we’re gonna buy that?” The man sighed and leaned foreward to eye level. “Look, I’m just trying to help you here. Whatever you don’t tell me, Loginov will discover soon enough. Do us both a favor, will you? Just tell me who you work for, how you managed that little space stunt, and how on earth you took out so many of our guys.” The man stared at Loki’s impassive face searchingly for a moment, then began slowly, “So far as we know, Stark is the only one with the tech to even potentially reach space in a personal suit. But he doesn’t share. Has SHIELD finally gotten their fingers on the suit without us knowing?”

Loki narrowed his eyes in a challenge and glared at the man.

“So that’s it then.” The man smiled softly. “And the fools sent it into our waiting hands. Gotta love it when you idiots underestimate Hydra.”

He paused a moment in his gloating, and narrowed his eyes. “But the soldier didn’t mention a suit, and we didn’t find any tech on you.”

“And you never will. Do you think we are idiots, that we would let such a valuable weapon fall into the hands of Hydra? You have nothing.” Loki allowed a touch of steel to enter his voice, hoping it would disguise the fact that he was completely shooting in the dark. His gamble was rewarded.

“We’ll see about that.” The man stared at Loki for a few moments more, then abruptly rose and sauntered to the door. He paused for a moment to stare into the lens-like device beside the door. A buzzer sounded and the door clicked open. Without a backward the glance, the man strode out, his body guard on his heals, leaving Loki in silence.

Loki narrowed his eyes slightly. So they were trying to win him through kindness. Naïve, though he supposed not a poor strategy. Ultimately, he supposed it was rather predictable that they would start out with a friendly face. Sugar draws more flies than vinegar and all that. He might be able to use it himself. His best course now would be to allow these mortals to continue giving him a crash course on the underworld of Midgardian politics until he saw a likely means of escape. Loki sighed as he disconnected the medical tubes and wires from his body, and slowly dragged himself upward until he was resting against his pillow, propped upright securely in the corner. All he had to do was continue to be underestimated for as long as it suited him. He suppressed a low whine and slumped forward slightly as his overtaxed body complained against his motion.

Underestimated. Yes. It was a convenient enough excuse not to move.

Fighting the tug of unconsciousness, he centered himself and allowed his awareness to explore beyond the walls of is cell. Best to know where he was, and with whom.

He allowed his mind to filter through the hundreds of consciousnesses milling about what seemed to be an underground compound. His mind flicked over cunning scientists and commanders sequestered in conference rooms and viewing monitoring equipment, but most of those present were soldiers, operatives trained to follow orders. A plan began to form in his mind, he need only dispose of the head, and the body would be his.

Mind racing, he almost missed it when his extended senses slid over a cell, just like his. Prisoner his mind whispered. Weapon he corrected himself. Probing the damaged mind within, he furrowed his brow in thought. This was not what he expected. Whoever, whatever occupied that cell, it was dangerous. He had only to discover if this wildcard could be used to his advantage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed, and please leave your thoughts. I now have a plan of where this is going, and hopefully it will be worth the bite size chapters.  
> Until next time, Kementari.  
> 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which bad things happen to our only slightly morally dubious hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been a while since I updated. Oops? here is another chapter, not entirely pleased with it, but I had to build a lot of background fairly quickly to get this story trotting in the right direction. Loki gets crabby when I push him, so this is what you get.  
> Thank you to all who have been reading up to this point, and to all of the darling people who have been leaving kudos. A special thank you to ImperialDragon, Nyx_Ro, and fratt trash for there beautiful review, you give me joy.  
> Now, on to the story. Let me know what you think, but more importantly, read, enjoy, and have beautiful lives.  
> -Kementari
> 
> Edit: hated the chapter, wrote a new one. Here you go, you're welcome.

Moments or hours after Smirnov left, the loud clang of a slamming door snapped Loki out of his thoughts. A tall man wearing a dark uniform and tightly trimmed hair strode purposefully into the cell, took a quick glance around the small room, and briskly stepped back, hand lingering near a yet undrawn weapon. He nodded sharply at the door, and the lean, polished looking doctor, ‘Loginov’, Loki’s mind whispered, stepped into the room and closing the door firmly behind him. Looking at him today, Loki again noticed that despite the doctor’s below average height, he carried himself with an air of authority. Loginov strode past his bodyguard without sparing the man a glance, his slicked back white hair gleaming in the harsh light, and the tapping of his ebony cane echoing off the walls of the cell.

It would seem, the real game had just begun.

Loki watched the man impassively as Loginov pulled the metal chair out of the corner and set it imposingly over Loki’s narrow form. Loki fought to maintain the helpless facade as Loginov peared at him like a curious reptile would peer at an ant, his pale eyes flickering impassively over Loki’s face.

“My name is Doctor Loginov, but you may call me Joseph.” The shorter man began in his soft, carefully modulated voice. "I will now ask you a series of questions, and you will answer me honestly and completely. If you do so, you will be treated well. If you attempt to lie, you will still end up giving us the answers we seek, though perhaps less comfortably.”

“Less… comfortably.” Loki noted dryly, looking directly at Loginov for the first time since the Doctor entered the cell, and gesturing vaguely toward the red smear on the wall behind him that tracked his somewhat unhappy attempt at rising.“I’m keen to see that.”

Loginov smiled predatorily, and withdrew a leather case from the pocket of his white jacket. “Tell me, how did you come to crash out in the woods?”

Loki smiled grimly, they both knew he would not answer the first time. They both knew how this game was played. “It seemed as likely a place to land as any other.”

Loginov withdrew a hollow needle from the leather case and examined it for a moment. “I see.” He murmured, emotionlessly. In one fluid motion, he jabbed the needle into the side of Loki’s neck.

A fiery poison seemed to tear through his veins, scorching his nerves with lightening, and throwing his heart into a panicked rhythm.  

He arched his back, not hearing the clatter as his cot upended, not feeling his rapid descent to the unforgiving ground, desperately trying to escape the fire in his blood.

Loki writhed helplessly, his skeletal frame grinding against the frozen floor, his mind dimming to a type of white fuzziness that refused to recede to the oblivion that he now craved. His heart bucked and seized, stubbornly pumping poison through his veins. Through the roaring in his ears he heard shouting, but it was far away and utterly unimportant. His heart hammered erratically against his ribs, as if in a desperate bid to escape, and for a moment Loki wished it would succeed.

Then, as abruptly as it had started, the attack receded and Loki was left panting, on his side on the ground. His heart trembled in his chest like a frightened animal; had he the strength he would have cursed himself for such weakness. He felt a wetness seeping from his nose and ears, and tasted copper on his tongue. For a moment, he just lay there, eyes open but not seeing, his breath rasping and bubbling as his lungs shuddered unevenly. His throat felt raw and parched as though he had been screaming. He dimly noted that he was shivering, though he could not identify whether he felt hot or cold at the moment. Everything seemed distantly irrelevant.

It was with that realization that the vague fuzziness that he had been staring at began to coalesce into a shiny black leather shoe and starched white linen pants, surrounded by an indistinct ocean of dirty grey and red concrete. Something moved in his peripheral, and then he felt two sharp pokes in his shoulder. His cane, Loki realized belatedly. The mortal just poked him with his cane. He tried to say something, what it was he did not know, but all that came out was an undignified whimper. Pathetic. The cane was replaced on the floor with an oddly muted click, and then the foot lifted off the floor and pressed against Loki’s shoulder. Hard. With a strangled groan, Loki rolled onto his back, his arm flopping out to his side, and his neck stretched to the side as his head knocked against the wall. He blinked blearily up at the oddly out of focus figures in the room. There were more than he remembered.

Loki’s fogging eyes lazily drifted toward a hand reaching incongruously from the mist that seemed to surround him. He blinked at it, and the hand was suddenly plunging toward his throat and yanking him abruptly from his lethargy. Loki grasped desperately at cold metal, and caught a flash of chilling blue eyes, before the iron arm slammed him against the wall and held him, his feet dangling inches from the ground.

With a savage hiss, Loki raised both of his arms, and brought their combined weight down on the mechanized elbow, pounding on the weakest part of the joint once, twice, three times, before the soldier’s hand caught Loki’s left fist, turning it outward so his shoulder strained against his abused chest. Loki flailed desperately for a moment, tightening his grip over the metallic fingers in a desperate attempt to draw breath.

Behind the Soldier, four armed guards had formed a tight perimeter, absurdly crowded in the small space. The monitor he had once been hooked to had been hurled across the room where it now lay in a heap. He did not see his cot anywhere. Burn marks and hairline cracks lined the once pristine walls, and the smell of ozone filled the air. Loki wondered if he did that. The guard’s nervous expressions and tight grips certainly seemed to suggest it.

Loginov turned away from the little tableau, adding a quick note to a small rectangular device. Turning back, he assessed Loki calmly from what he must have considered a safe distance. “So, in the end, you answer my questions after all” he smiled almost kindly. “The power in your veins,” he paused as though for loss of words. “It is remarkable.” He glanced around their smoking surrounding assessingly, a mixture of awe and greed concealed behind his reptilian eyes, before his attention returned to Loki. “Secure him” he ordered briskly, and the Soldier tightened his grip, lifting Loki higher off the ground. 

With a satisfied smile, Loginov selected a second needle, identical to the first. "Now, a man of your ability, I must know who you work for."

Loki struggled vainly against the Soldier's iron grasp as Loginov walked closer, tapping the needle gently and examining it under the harsh light. "Nobody has survived this one, though I hope you will be the first. It can get boring using the same incentives time after time. I'm sure you understand the need to branch out."

Loki just stared at the man, unimpressed. His nerves were still twitching oddly from the last 'incentive', but Loginov was too smart to kill him so early in the game.  

"There is a rumor, you know, that S.H.I.E.L.D. is putting together some people, 'heroes' I suppose. Would you be one of them?"

Loki smiled wolfishly, ignoring  the needle even as Loginov stopped directly before him, "Do I look the hero type?"

Loginov quirked an eyebrow at that, looking faintly amused. "From my perspective, none of them do. Now, what is Fury planning?"

Loki stared levelly into Loginov's cold, grey eyes. "I don't know."

"A pity" With a slow deliberation that Loki was powerless to stop, Loginov pressed the needle once more into Loki's neck.

For a moment nothing happened. Loki clapped a hand to his neck even as the Doctor withdrew the needle, and disinterestedly capped it and replaced it in the case. Then a tingling sensation spread through his bloodstream, numbing his fingertips, and causing a low buzz in his ears. Loki stared down at his body in confusion. It was strange, but scarcely the torture he was expecting. “What?” He managed, uncertainly.

Without so much as looking at him, Loginov began to count. “Three, two, one.”

Within a moment, the strange chemical reached his heart and began its attack in earnest.

Loki screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my goal on this is to get a good story, using only fifteen reasonably short chapters. That means that I am picking up the pace rather considerably. Next chapter, things are going to start happening pretty fast. Ye be warned.  
> Also, I changed this chapter so dramatically, it's not even the same thing anymore. I apologize to anyone who was reading it, I hate it when authors do what I just did, but this thing needed a facelift. For those of you who already read it, I'm keeping te same storyline, I just am changing how I go about it, because I was tackling way too many plot points and it wasn't going to work. Hope this one works better.  
> You're thoughts are beautiful and I savor them all.  
> -Kementari

**Author's Note:**

> This story idea popped into my brain and I liked it, but not sold on continuing it right now because life be crazy. I just gave this to you as a parting gift from 2017 so you, my fellow Marvel enthusiasts, could hopefully let me know if you would be interested in a better written continuation of this premise. Let me know what you think and enjoy your New Year.  
> -Kementari


End file.
